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waiting on him for an hour now.”
    â€œYeah, but…” McGee glanced at Simon with apology. “He’s ready now.”
    She snorted. “He’s not a raw turkey. He’ll keep without souring too much.”
    McGee’s brow puckered in confusion. “What?”
    That was Simon’s reaction, too. Dakota did say the oddest things that, from what he could tell, had no meaning to anyone but her.
    Rather than look like an ass, Simon said, “Suit yourself, Dakota. I’m outta here.” And he forced himself to turn and walk away from her.
    â€œOh, for the love of…” Her voice dropped to a growl. “All right already. Keep your pants on.”
    Simon stopped. He took one deep breath, then another before he turned to see Dakota scrambling under the ropes. “I think I’d rather not.”
    She flashed him a look of incomprehension. “You’d rather not what?” Dropping to sit on her butt by the heavyweight, she tugged on her boots and sped through tying her laces.
    â€œGet it in gear, Dakota, and I’ll explain it all to you once we’re alone.”
    Most of the men understood that Simon would prefer to have his pants off with Dakota, and they snickered and hooted—until Dakota silenced them all with a frown.
    â€œDon’t encourage him,” she said. “He’s bad enough as it is.”
    So she intended to give them all orders. Ballsy beyond belief, that’s what she was.
    But the men went quiet.
    Done with her boots, Dakota jumped up and pulled on her coat, thanked the heavyweight for his assistance, and grabbed her satchel. She raced to Simon, hooked her arm through his, and smiled brightly. “All ready. Let’s go.”
    Simon glanced around to see all the men smiling like adoring saps. How the hell did she do that so easily? Few women could infiltrate an all-male domain and be treated as both a pal and a lady.
    Especially if she looked like Dakota Dream.
    It wasn’t just her name that made Simon think of porn stars. She had a natural comfort with her body and presence, and a load of confidence that rivaled a championship fighter.
    Dakota was dangerous to one and all. But still, Simon’s look issued another warning, and one by one, the men all went back to their drills.
    Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t be able to escape her without at least a small taste. And touch. And maybe even…full satisfaction.
    But just once.
    Then he’d send her packing and get back to the business of reclaiming a title championship.

C HAPTER 4
    S HE drove a truck. Why didn’t that surprise him?
    Simon glanced around at the interior of the aged Ford F-150 and decided that it suited her. Rugged, but well equipped. Economical, but still attractive. A string of Mardi Gras beads hung from the rearview mirror and a newspaper, with cheap hotel ads circled, lay on the dash. On the floor of the passenger’s side was a large thermos, no doubt filled with coffee.
    If someone had asked Simon last week—or even two days ago—if he ever thought to eat lunch in a truck in the rain, he’d have assured the person it wasn’t possible.
    Yet here he was.
    A slow steady rain added to the chill in the air and limited the visibility through the windows.
    It was cozy. And intimate.
    Simon took another bite of his pita sandwich and wished like hell he had the same loaded cold cut triple-decker that Dakota devoured.
    She’d driven them just a few blocks from the gym to a deserted park. She kept the engine running with the heat on low and a CD playing. He wore only a long-sleeved tee and jeans; she’d taken off her coat.
    Around a mouthful of food, she asked, “Is my hair curling?”
    Simon settled against the passenger door and surveyed her. “Do you realize that your conversational topics are usually pretty hard to follow?”
    â€œYeah, I know.” She shrugged. “Sorry. But see, it’s raining and